


Even So, I Was Not Prepared For This

by nubianamy



Category: Real Genius
Genre: Drama, F/M, M/M, Romance, Slash, plumbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-22 13:06:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nubianamy/pseuds/nubianamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lazlo is more perceptive than Mitch would have expected. Chris just wants to have fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't noticed, this is not about Glee. Apparently the slash monsters have taken over my brain, because re-watching _Real Genius (1985)_ made the plot bunnies start breeding furiously. Five days and over thirteen thousand words later, this is the result. 
> 
> The title is from the song [I'm Falling](http://youtu.be/2O_3RjbBvEQ) by The Comsat Angels, from the movie soundtrack; lyrics are at the end.

"Jordan?" Mitch said, stumbling into the common room, laden with chart paper, computer punch cards and assorted lab paraphernalia. "Have you seen Chris?"

Jordan looked up from her three-dimensional representation of curved nanowires, and shook her head. "He was at dinner, but I haven't seen him since they smuggled out those meal trays to use for structural support in their tree house, do you think he was planning on coming back after they did some work on that or was he just going to sleep up there again, because you know he sometimes –"

"Okay," he interrupted, sighing. "Thanks, anyway. If you see him, can you remind him he was _supposed_ to work on Dr. Hathaway's project with me tonight? Again?"

When he got to the room, Lazlo Hollyfeld was there, sitting in Chris's chair, with a Rubik's cube in his hands. He had a feeling Lazlo visited their room at specific times for a reason, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out a pattern. He charted the times of day and analyzed them on his Tandy 2000, but it was no use: Lazlo's comings and goings were a mystery. He wished he could figure it out.

"You ever play with one of these things?" he asked.

Mitch stared at him. They were the first words he'd ever heard Lazlo speak, since he'd arrived at Pacific Tech that January. "Yeah," he whispered. Then, a little louder: "I got one for my tenth birthday."

"What's it for?"

"It's - it's a toy, a puzzle. You know. You mix it up and then you have to get it back the way it's supposed to be."

Lazlo's confusion was palpable. "How do you know the way it's supposed to be?"

Mitch took the scrambled cube from him and, with a few quick twists, solved the cube. "Like this, with all the colors the same."

"Huh." Lazlo looked at the cube, baffled. "Who wants things all the same?"

Mitch sighed. "Me, I guess," he said. "God knows I could use a little more order in my life." He leaned on Chris' desk and picked up the toy Chris had identified as a penis-stretcher. Mitch still didn't know what it really did.

Lazlo nodded. "It's Chris, isn't it?" Mitch looked at him sharply, and he shrugged. "I know. He thrives on chaos. That can be… unnerving."

"Tell me about it," Mitch agreed. "All his flying toys and crazy stunts. I mean, don't get me wrong. He's amazing. The thing with the laser and the mirrors and the waterslides... that – that was freaking genius." He rubbed his forehead. "But this business of abandoning me to deal with Dr. Hathaway's project alone, that's another thing entirely."

"He's not helping you?"

"No!" Mitch snapped. "We've got work to do, hard work, and Chris… he just… distracts me."

"He's pretty distracting," Lazlo said softly. Mitch's face turned red, and he looked away.

"You know, I thought this place was going to be different," he said. "But it's like high school all over again. I feel like I'll always be the outcast, the one who doesn't belong. Dr. Hathaway seems to like me, at least, but nobody else does."

"Except Chris?"

"Chris… confounds me." Mitch shuffled through the colors on the Rubik's Cube, giving it stripes. "I didn't have a social life in high school… my parents were all about extra homework and academic decathlon and special projects. I barely had time to brush my teeth every night, much less hang out with my friends." He snorted. "Not that I had any good ones. But Chris – Chris has nothing _but_ a social life."

"He eats, drinks and breathes a party," agreed Lazlo.

"I mean, I really admire him, in a way. He's clever, funny, full of wild ideas. He's… he's completely unlike anybody I've ever known. But he drives me crazy." He blew out a frustrated sigh, tossing the Rubik's Cube on Chris' bed. "I wish he'd just tell me why he's never here."

"He's avoiding you," Lazlo said. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a roll of candy. "Life Saver?"

"What? Oh… sure." Mitch took one, puzzled. "What do you mean, he's avoiding me? Why?"

Lazlo was silent for a minute, gazing placidly at Mitch. "You know why," he said.

"No," insisted Mitch, but he would not look into Lazlo's eyes.

"Chris plays with those coins," Lazlo said. "Doesn't he? On his knuckles."

"Yeah," Mitch said. "He's really good at it." Mitch couldn't take his eyes off Chris' hands when he did that. "So?"

"He walks around in his underwear. For hours at a time?"

"… Yeah," he said again, his face flaming. "He's comfortable like that, I guess." Chris' boxers left little to the imagination.

"He touches you a lot," Lazlo nodded, and his eyes were kind and gentle. "I bet you can remember every time he ever touched you, even just a hand on your shoulder."

"Stop," Mitch croaked, and turned away from Lazlo, covering his head with his hands. When he looked back at the chair, it was empty. The man had vanished. Mitch stared at the empty chair, running his hand over the leather, and tried to collect his sensibilities.

Mitch didn't know why, but Lazlo was right. He knew what was really keeping him from his work. And, as loathe as he was to admit it, it wasn't one of the girls from the Wanda Tressler School of Beauty.

Mitch relived every memory of Chris' touch in excruciating detail in his dreams, and occasionally, when he was feeling particularly frustrated, in his guilty morning fantasies. _His arms came around my neck,_ he would think, stroking himself to exquisite hardness, _and put the lei over my head, and they were on my chest, right there, brushing my left nipple,_ and that would be enough to make him gasp and leave a sticky mess in his shorts.

Or: _He lifted me off the ground when I slipped on the ice outside my dorm room, and wrapped his arms around me as we skated down the hall._ His armpits tingled at the memory. He hadn't even realized his armpits were erogenous zones, but they seemed to be, at least where Chris was concerned.

 _In the lab, he made the stupid joke about cha-chaing,_ and that led to a whole series of ridiculous fantasies about dancing with him at the winter formal, each of them wearing sport jackets and matching boutonnieres, which always ended with frantic necking in Chris' bed and embarrassingly corny words of endearment.

But none of this mattered, because Chris liked girls, was always chasing them, made the moves on them, and occasionally had one visit for an hour or two while Mitch hung out in the common room and watched to see if the sock would come off the doorknob. And Chris was never around when he really needed him. Like now, for example.

Mitch stared through tear-filled eyes at the calculations on his chart paper, and in a sudden burst of fury, tore the whole thing off the easel and sent it tumbling to the ground. "Dammit," he swore, and stormed across the hall to the office where the phone was, dialing his parents' number with an increasing sense of panic. _This was not how things were supposed to go._

"Mom, I want to come home," was what he said. "I don't like it here anymore. I want to come home and live with you." Because there was no way he could use the words he was thinking to people who still called him "Mommy's little soldier _._ " _Mom, I'm having absurd fantasies about my roommate,_ or _Mom, I jerk off every morning thinking about Chris's treasure trail_ wouldn't go over very well. And, it was no use, anyway – apparently his parents had already rented out his room. He wasn't going anywhere.

He knocked into Jordan, coming out of the office, and she knew right away that something was wrong. "I have ice cream," she said, and he followed her in defeat to the kitchenette. She chattered at him while scooping Moose Tracks into a bowl and pushed a spoon into his hand.

Jordan _was_ very nice, it was true. It didn't matter to him that she was hyperkinetic and talked all the time. She had pretty eyes, and her skin was soft, and she was funny and friendly. But it wasn't her chest that he imagined pressed against his in the middle of the night; it wasn't her lips that traced a pattern of tingling kisses down his neck when he daydreamed during p-chem. And it wasn't her name he cried out with increasing regularity upon waking. Thank god Chris was a heavy sleeper, because he'd have a heck of a time explaining _that_ one.

"I talked to Lazlo today," he said, and Jordan's eyes got big.

"He talked to you?" She ate another spoonful. "What did he talk about?"

"Chris."

"Oh." She nodded sagely. "They say he likes him. I mean, likes him likes him."

Mitch felt the blood drain from his face. "Chris… likes Lazlo?"

"No, Lazlo likes Chris. I don't know, do you think Chris likes him back? I haven't really noticed, but they do –"

"He's so much older than him, though," Mitch found himself saying. "And… the beard. I don't think he's really Chris's type."

She eyed Mitch. "What do you think _is_ Chris' type?"

Mitch tried to respond to that, but after three attempts, he gave up.

"Eat more ice cream," advised Jordan. "I think you're gonna need it."


	2. Chapter 2

Kent was the one who recorded him talking to his mom and dad. He was sure of it. When they played it over the loudspeaker, he watched them all laughing at him, and it was like his worst nightmares from high school had come true.

Chris burst in on him while he was packing his clothes into his suitcase. Mitch met his shocked eyes with accusing ones. He was surprised to see embarrassment there, and something else underneath. _Fear?_ Whatever it was, Chris turned away, running a hand through his gelled hair, and covered it up quickly with a joke.

"The other night, I needed your help, and all you wanted to do was party!" Mitch was mortified to hear the neediness and petulance in his voice.

"I did help you," Chris said. "I tried to help you relax." He told him the story of Lazlo in the steam tunnels. Mitch didn't mention that he'd already spoken with Lazlo, but was arrested at the idea of Chris looking at Lazlo in his pajamas. _Ew. Gross. There was no way that they – no._

But there was something a little on this side of desperate in the way Chris was trying to get him to stay that Mitch had not seen from him before, something he thought he recognized. He let Chris persuade him, even laugh, make plans to get back at Kent, and Chris smiled at him, and for the first time, Mitch felt like he had a friend.

They took apart Kent's car, with Jordan and Ick's help, and the moment Kent discovered it reassembled in his own dorm room was absolutely priceless.

Chris put his arm around Mitch's neck. "I had help," he said, and gave him a friendly squeeze, and didn't let go.

Kent's gaze took in the two of them, and Mitch was surprised to watch his expression shift from murderous rage to jealous rage. "You, huh?" he said, looking them up and down, and Mitch felt Chris squeeze his shoulder again. Something shifted inside him then, like a deck of cards, riffled and cut and stacked back together. It was the same, but everything had changed.

After that, Mitch found himself looking more carefully into Chris' eyes whenever they were alone together. Chris still took frequent opportunities to touch Mitch in a completely friendly, platonic way, and Mitch still appreciated those touches, but they never lasted long enough for him to pursue anything. What was he going to say, anyway? _Chris, this hand on my thigh. Does it mean you like me like me? Or are you just being overly friendly?_ He needed a longer moment alone with him, time to ask Chris to explain, to reason, to get to the logic behind the impulses.

And then, one night, Mitch came home and found Chris on the roof, under the moon, looking up at the stars, and he decided, _This is it._ He climbed out their window, a giddy sense of freedom and wild abandon in his gut. _Is this how Chris feels all the time?_ he wondered.

"What'cha doing?" he asked.

"Self-realization," Chris said. "I was thinking of the immortal words of Socrates, who said: 'I drank what?'" He did not smile. "Hathaway is going to flunk me out of school. I screwed up."

Mitch's playful excitement shriveled and became a grotesque knot of panic. He stared at Chris' beautiful face. "What are you going to do?"

"I guess I'll leave."

He rattled off two or three inane reasons why Chris couldn't do that, why he needed to stay, while the words just behind his lips, the ones he wouldn't let out, were: _don't leave me._

"You've got to finish what you start," he said finally, and Chris shot him a sharp glance.

"Who said that?"

"You know that."

Chris rolled his eyes around, gazing at him coyly. "That's right, Mitch, but that is no way to motivate somebody."

Mitch's laugh was tentative, and he looked up at Chris through his lashes. Chris wasn't looking away. He was waiting.

"You have to get back at Jerry Hathaway," Mitch tried. "It's a moral imperative."

That made Chris smile. "That's a good point," he said. Mitch smiled back, and they just sat there, smiling at one another, until the moment should have gotten awkward. But it didn't. Chris was still waiting. He reached out and put a hand on Mitch's ankle.

"You know I'm leaving at the end of the year," he said. "Whether I want to or not. It'll either be the Darlington job, or the fry line at McDonalds. Or possibly the chorus on Broadway; I haven't decided."

"I know," said Mitch. "But you've still got another two months." He cocked an eyebrow, and dared to put a hand on top of Chris's hand. Chris watched him carefully. "You can wreak a lot of mayhem in two months. I… I can help."

"I know," Chris said softly. "We're a good team." He shifted his hand so their fingers were intertwined. His thumb rubbed against Mitch's, and the friction lit a fire inside Mitch. He let the fire show in his eyes, and Chris took a long, slow breath.

"What comes next?" His voice was intense.

"I don't know." Mitch squeezed his hand. "You're the idea guy. What do you want to have happen?"

Chris shifted so he was sitting next to Mitch, and slid an arm around his waist. Mitch felt a little faint to have him so close when he was so hard. He wondered if Chris could tell.

"I have… a few ideas," Chris said. "But I don't know if you're going to like them."

"Since when did I ever stand in the way of any of your ideas?" Mitch said, looking up at Chris's face, so close to his.

"Yeah, but I don't think any of them were quite like this." Chris dropped his eyes to Mitch's mouth, and licked his lips. "You're under eighteen. It's very illegal and very naughty to be thinking… what I'm thinking of doing."

"Somehow I don't think either illegal or naughty ever stopped you before." Mitch, inspired to madness, reached up and touched Chris's jaw with his free hand, and when Chris leaned in to kiss him, he ran his hand into Chris's hair and tugged him closer. _My first kiss,_ Mitch thought vaguely, through the haze of lust. Chris tasted like strawberry Pop-Tarts.

But, even so, he had to ask. "So, all those girls?"

"What about them?" Chris's hand on his back snuck under Mitch's polo shirt. Mitch had no idea how he could feel Chris's touch on his back in so many other places in his body.

"You said they were beautiful."

"You're beautiful, too, Mitch," Chris breathed, and kissed him again, and Mitch was mortified to hear himself making greedy noises of want into Chris's mouth.

"Yeah?" he said. Chris tut-tutted as he climbed into Mitch's lap.

"Yeah – your goddamn lips, those eyes… now come on. Can we take it as read that we both want this?" Chris's hands deftly removed Mitch's shirt. "You're going to make me use sarcasm if you keep asking stupid questions. I'd rather focus on making you come so hard you lose function in your limbs for a week."

"You'd have to feed me," Mitch gasped, grabbing for support as Chris's mouth found his left nipple. "God."

"I can do that," Chris said, moving to the other nipple. "But do you trust me with your nutrition?"

"I trust you," Mitch said, and something in his voice made Chris stop what he was doing and look at Mitch's face. He wrinkled his brow.

"This isn't about _feelings,_ mind you," Chris said. "This is about _fun_."

Mitch swallowed, trying to wrap his brain around how the word fun might relate to himself and Chris Knight. "Got it," he agreed.

"Just so's we're clear," Chris said, and unzipped Mitch's pants. "Now, let me focus. As you know, I'm easily distracted."


	3. Chapter 3

They spent the next few weeks working hard in the lab, trying unsuccessfully to get the yields they wanted. The third time the sample self-destructed, Chris picked up a beaker and pitched it at the wall. "Jesus, Chris," Mitch yelled. "You don't have to throw a fit."

"Why can't I figure it out?" he said, furiously pacing. "This shouldn't be this hard." He grabbed another beaker, but Mitch wrested it from his hands.

"The solution _isn't_ destroying all the glassware in the lab," he said, and put the beaker down before wrapping his arms around Chris's chest. "Relax. The answer will come to you."

Chris huffed in frustration, but he let himself be enticed into a kiss, which quickly expanded to involve hands and tongues. "What's this nefarious plot of yours?" he grumbled. "You're going to inspire a divine realization through sex?"

"Something like that," Mitch grinned, slipping a hand into Chris' jeans. "Let me see how often I can get you to invoke a deity in the next ten minutes."

* * *

Chris started making a serious effort in school. He went to class every day. He even dressed the part. Mitch snuck up behind Chris one morning while he was buttoning up his collar and slipped his hands over his chest. "You look really hot in the preppy uniform," he said. "Pink looks so much better on you than on Kent."

"Well, of course," said Chris, slipping two pencils into his pocket. "Pink and douche totally clash."

Mitch laid his head on Chris' back, listening to him breathe, and noticed his footwear. "Are you really going to wear those mouse slippers to class?"

Chris wore various animal slippers everywhere, around the dorm, to dinner, to every class he taught. Mitch made him take them off when they did… stuff, though, so usually they ended up under Mitch's bed. Yesterday morning, Mitch found himself chucking two chipmunk slippers, two armadillo slippers and one frilled lizard slipper back over to Chris' much messier side of the room.

"I'll have you know these mouse slippers take great notes," Chris declared. "I've never gotten less than an A on a test when I've worn them."

"I bet you've never gotten less than an A on any test," Mitch said, smiling.

Chris thought about that. "True, but I've also never taken a test while wearing them." He did a one-eighty in the curve of Mitch's arms so they were facing each other, and reached down to cup Mitch's ass, grinding their hips together. Mitch's breath caught, and he closed his eyes, relaxing into Chris's hands.

"You're going to be late for class," Mitch warned, putting his hands on Chris's chest.

"My mouse slippers have little mouse pocket watches." He buried his face in Mitch's neck and used his teeth to make Mitch groan. "They'll give us a five _and_ a two minute warning."

* * *

They didn't usually get a chance to relax afterwards, because Chris was always studying now. He only lay still for minutes at a time, and then he was drawn back to the books on his desk, the stack of papers in his backpack. Today Chris rose to get a drink, saw the exam schedule posted above the water cooler, and wandered over to his desk, distracted into reading a paragraph.

"Chris," said Mitch, amused. "Come back to bed. You don't even have your underwear on."

Chris mumbled something and went on reading, hunching over his work, his hair unusually rumpled. Mitch sighed, pulled on his sweats, and settled down to his own desk. It _was_ amazing how much better he was able to concentrate on his studies after they'd just done… _that._ And knowing they could do _that_ again, pretty much any time he wanted, made it easier not to feel so desperate to have Chris close. But he did kind of wish there could be _some_ snuggling. Even if it wasn't about feelings.

Chris didn't even notice when Lazlo came out. Lazlo stopped when he saw Chris studying, and just watched him for a minute with a worried expression on his face. Mitch kept his focus on his book, so as not to scare Lazlo away, and watched him watching Chris from behind the chemistry text. Finally Lazlo continued on his way, silently slipping into the hallway.

Mitch was frequently amazed and delighted by Chris, the things he did, but the best times were when Chris didn't know he was watching him. He stumbled upon Jordan and Ick and Chris arguing one day over something academic. They were really worked up, each one running to the board, scribbling some figures and equations on the chart paper and gesticulating wildly at the others. He wasn't even part of their conversation; Mitch couldn't have explained it, but even across the room, he felt more connected to Chris than he'd ever felt. It was just how things were between them. He wasn't going to put a name on it. But it really felt… _good._

* * *

Mitch followed Chris and Ick out of the lab, walking a few paces behind while they animatedly discussed the most recent problems in their project. Mitch drew up beside him as Ick waved goodbye.

"Ick has some good ideas," Mitch said.

"Yeah," Chris said. "He's convinced we can't solve the power problem without changing the alignment of the optics, here –" He pointed at a reconstructed diagram.

"He's got a valuable perspective," Mitch said. "I… suppose talking with him is what you really need right now."

"Well, yeah, his background in phase changes is really –" Chris stopped in the middle of the hallway and searched Mitch's face for something. Then he dropped all his papers and equipment in a heap, grabbed Mitch by the shirt and hauled him into the men's bathroom.

"You're freaking out," he said, "because of _Ick?_ "

"What? You're – I don't –" Mitch stammered, and Chris jammed his tongue into Mitch's mouth and kissed him until he was boneless and gasping against the wall.

"Do you think I do _this…_ with him?" Chris's hand went between Mitch's thighs, clutched the stiffness that had suddenly arisen, and squeezed, eliciting a moan.

"I don't know," Mitch said. "Maybe? You seem to have no problem sleeping with any girl who stumbles your way. Why would this be any different?"

Chris's face got really close to Mitch's, and he hovered there, breathing open-mouthed onto Mitch's chin. Finally, he said, almost gently, "You're an idiot if you think this isn't different."

It was too much to bear. "Okay, forget it, just kiss me, okay?" he said, clutching Chris' head, obliterating all thought in the feeling of his incredible lips on his.

* * *

Chris probably had no idea, Mitch thought, how he looked, walking into the lab with his shirt unbuttoned down to his navel. He probably had no idea what kind of sensations that inspired in him, that, even as his attention was taken by the biggest gain in yield they'd seen yet, Mitch was remembering what he'd done to that abdomen and how his chest had felt under Mitch's hands.

But Kent knew. He was sure of it. Kent had almost caught them casually exiting the shower more than once, and he was certain he listened at their door when they were trying their hardest to be quiet.

And he watched, now, as Kent took a good, long moment to gaze on the unbuttoned Chris with equal parts disgust and desire, and it made him uneasy. Chris met Kent's gaze and tossed his wrench into the air so it did a double flip. When they were alone, he grinned at Mitch, giving him a wink.

"You think he knows?" Mitch said, low.

Chris shrugged. "I'm sure he has a mighty active fantasy life. Whatever else he thinks he knows on top of that is irrelevant."

Mitch stared helplessly at his hands. "He could get you arrested."

"Only if he had proof, " he said, needlessly brushing dust between the emitter and the converging lens. "I really don't think he's that resourceful."

Mitch wasn't so sure, but he knew he had no other choice but to trust Chris. It was the only thing they had left.


	4. Chapter 4

Chris strode purposefully into the room and locked it behind him. Mitch looked up from his biochemistry homework, startled. "What is it?"

"No time to explain," he said, hauling off his shirt. "Come on, get over here."

Mitch stood, hesitating. Chris blew out an exasperated breath and began to unbutton Mitch's oxford himself. "You have no idea what it's like to go from never studying to _always_ studying," he said, yanking down Mitch's pants with a quick jerk. "All the pretty things walking by in the courtyard… all those legs and tits… how is a guy supposed to ignore all of that and just think about work all the time?"

"I'm sure at least some of those legs and tits wouldn't object to a little study break," Mitch grinned. "At least those ones attached to girls that could put up with a chauvinist pig like you."

"Too much work," said Chris, firmly pressing Mitch down onto the towel spread over his bed. It was almost always Mitch's bed, because Chris's was inevitably covered with too much stuff. "If I'm going to have meaningless, fantastic sex, why go through the trouble of wooing and winning a girl? Where's the lube?"

"Same place it was last time," Mitch said, sighing as Chris's hand reached around to stroke him. He opened the drawer of his side table and handed the tube back to Chris. "You have a terrible memory."

"Oh, really? I don't think you want me to recite Euler's number to a hundred digits to prove you wrong." He methodically stripped his pants and boxers off, kicking them under the bed to join the pile of slippers, and ran a hand up and down Mitch's back. Somehow, that always drove Mitch crazy.

Mitch shook his head. "You've got a strange concept of foreplay, Chris." Even more than his hand on his dick, Mitch reveled in the feel of Chris' entire naked body against him, touching him all over at the same time. It was sensory overload of the very best kind. He leaned into Chris' lube-covered fingers and breathed deeply, relaxing into the added sensation.

"Yeah, baby," Chris murmured into his ear, nudging him with the head of his cock. "Two point seven one eight two eight one eight two eight four five nine zero four five…"

"Shut up, dork," Mitch whispered, shivering. He wouldn't even admit to himself how ridiculously much he craved for Chris to say anything into his ear, even the digits of mathematical constants.

"See?" Chris put his other hand on Mitch's hip and nudged a little deeper. "I have an awesome memory. Admit it."

"Oh yeah?" Mitch snapped. "Really? How long have we been doing this? You and me?"

Chris paused for just a moment, then pulled out and thrust forward, hard. Mitch whimpered, seeing stars. "You have no fucking idea, do you?" he said.

"What kind of a question is that, potty mouth?" Chris said, almost conversationally, and gave another thrust. "Do I need to tell you to stop and look in my pocket calendar for the words "one month anniversary" tucked between "laundry day" and "more heinous studying?" Cause you aren't gonna find them."

"I know," Mitch said, and suddenly he was warm all over, he was glowing, and he couldn't stop the stupid smile that spread over his face. He was glad Chris was behind him and couldn't see it. "You don't even have a pocket calendar."

"Damn straight," Chris said with satisfaction, stroking Mitch's cock harder, more insistently, as he sped up his thrusts. "You know why? Because _I… have an awesome… memory."_

Mitch muffled the words and sounds that came flooding out of his mouth in his pillow, completely undone, as usual, by the feeling of Chris inside him, and came in great ropy streams all over the towel just moments after Chris gave a strangled gasp and wedged himself against Mitch's ass, holding him pinned to the bed.

They lay together on their sides afterwards, Chris curled comfortably around his back. Mitch neatly folded the towel and tossed it in the laundry hamper. "You're way too tidy about that," Chris said, wrapping an arm around Mitch's chest and holding him tight.

"I just don't want to have to wash my bedspread every time we… get moist," Mitch protested. "It's a lot easier to wash the towels every day." He closed his eyes and sighed into the half-embrace.

"Ever the practical thinker." Chris kissed his neck. "I knew there was a reason I was doing this with you."

"Who needs girls, anyway?" Mitch laughed, a little too loudly, and squeezed Chris's hand on his chest.

"Precisely," said Chris. "You've got much better post-coital banter than they do, anyway."

* * *

Mitch woke up in the middle of the night to Chris pulling on his shorts. "Where are you going?" he said softly.

"I'm feeding the shark," he replied, putting a hand on Mitch's hip. "Go back to sleep."

Mitch could feel the tension in his body, and he sat up, rubbing Chris' neck. Chris sighed a little.

"What's going to happen to David?" Mitch asked. David had cracked today, in the middle of the study lounge; just started screaming, and had stood up and blundered out of the room. No one had even blinked an eye.

Chris leaned his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. "He'll probably take the rest of the semester off. Come back in the fall a changed man, with a stricter study plan and a new prescription."

"You're thinking of Lazlo, aren't you?" he said, and Chris shifted on the bed. "That's not going to be you, Chris. You're not going to lose it. You're not going to end up in the steam tunnels."

"I know," he said, and there was panic in his voice Mitch had never heard before.

He stroked Chris' hair. "Then what?"

"If you don't already know, I'm not going to tell you," Chris said, and stood up. "That shark's pretty hungry. I'd better take care of it before he eats all the aquatic sheep."

* * *

The feeling of triumph when they finally got the yield they were looking for was the greatest intellectual rush Mitch had ever felt, even better than winning academic decathlon his junior year of high school. Chris came right over and met him with a stinging high five, hugging him around the neck right in front of all the guys. Mitch felt a little embarrassed, but Chris was just way too cool to care.

It came back, though, in his dreams, later. Peter in high school… he had him by the back of his underpants, was muscling his skinny frame into the mailbox… he had Kent's face, was grinning that brace-face snarl, saying, _"You're going to rue the day you tried to take Chris Knight away from me, you cocksucking faggot."_

"Mitch!" He sat up with a start, a line of drool leading from his bottom lip to the notes on his desk. He wiped it away irritably, and Chris gestured to the bed. "Why don't you get some sleep. You're still a growing boy… I hope." Mitch ignored the waggling eyebrows and began to sort through his notes when Lazlo came out of the closet.

"Lazlo," Chris said in surprise. Lazlo gazed back at him, then blinked.

"Oh," he said. "That's me." He glanced at Mitch. "I've been watching you."

Chris looked alarmed momentarily, then smiled disarmingly at Lazlo. "Uh, thanks." What has he seen? Mitch wondered, in his comings and goings? He didn't get the feeling that Lazlo would tell anybody about him and Chris, but he thought about what Jordan had told him, how he liked Chris, and he didn't want Lazlo to be upset.

"I thought you might need some help with the test, so I dug into the computer and got all the answers to all the questions Hathaway ever asked."

He looked frightened, and Chris spoke softly to him, as he might to a nervous child. "Wow. I didn't get you anything."

Lazlo explained the prize sweepstakes he was entering. "I've come to realize I have certain materialistic needs," he said.

"So… where are the questions?"

"I memorized them," Lazlo said, as though it were obvious. Mitch felt an odd sense of inadequacy as Chris nodded and glanced at Mitch, saying, _See? Smarter than you and me put together._

Mitch sighed. "I've got to go to sleep," he said.

"Do you want to borrow my pajamas?" Lazlo asked, and Mitch couldn't help but smile.

"I'm all set, thanks." As he stepped into the closet to get a clean shirt and sweatpants, he heard Lazo add to Chris, "Smart kid."

 _That's all I am,_ he thought with a sinking sense of certainty. _To any of them. A kid._ For a minute he had no idea what he was doing here. He was just another smart kid in the middle of a sea of smarts. Nothing special. Pretty soon the year would be over and he'd go home to an ordinary summer, and next year he'd be here again, ready to be nothing special again. Only this time without Chris.

He felt a constricting pain in his chest, and he leaned against the door frame, hiding his grimace from Chris and Lazlo. _I can't be here alone,_ he thought frantically, changing his clothes in the dim shadows of the closet. _It's going to be worse than before. Now that I know what… is possible._

Chris didn't notice as he stumbled back to his bed, but Lazlo caught his eye, and the look of sympathy was so sharp that he nearly started crying. Instead he huddled under the covers and willed himself to sleep. Without dreams, this time, he hoped.

* * *

Sherry was in Chris' chair when he came in, and it caught him off guard when she kissed him, but it wasn't Chris he turned to after he sent her away. It was Jordan.

"I told her I didn't want to," he explained to her. "Because I really did want to. Only, not with her."

He let Jordan think what she wanted about that, and when they kissed, it felt familiar, easy. Her lips were softer than Chris's, and he wasn't sure what to do with the soft mounds on her chest, but the rest he thought he could figure out. It was almost the same, he told himself. Almost.

If Chris noticed the sock on the doorknob, he didn't mention it to Mitch at dinner, and they spent the rest of the evening studying with almost no interaction. Chris's eyes held no accusation when they said good night. "You want to have breakfast tomorrow before your exam?" Mitch asked.

"Since when am I a morning person?" Chris said quizzically, but he shrugged. "I might be persuaded to get up before ten if you tempt me with pancakes."

"I just thought you might need a little extra energy," he said. "Before you completely ace that final."

Chris's smile was real. "Thanks, Mitch," he said. "You always believe in me."

"Of course I do," Mitch said. "I – " He stopped his words at the tiny shake of Chris's head. "I – I always will," he amended.


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh, my god, did you believe it?" Mitch heard Ick say to a classmate, over the noise of the after-exam party. He poured himself a cup of punch and sniffed to be sure there was no alcohol in it before taking a drink. "That exploding apple was just the icing on the cake. I heard Bodie say he wrote Jerry a note saying "I aced this" when he turned it in. Now that's bold."

Mitch felt a warm sense of accomplishment. He knew Ick was talking about Chris. Somehow, incredibly, it was even more important than acing his own finals, which he was pretty sure he'd done. All their studying had paid off, in more way than one. He just hoped it was enough.

Then he heard a snide laugh, and he stiffened, as Kent stepped out of the kitchen. "So then I said, 'Sorry about the meltdown,' and he said, 'What meltdown?' and I said, 'Not that you had one, but just in case you do.'" Kent took a fastidious drink from his paper cup. "He should have remembered to check his optics. Seriously, that's freshman stuff."

Mitch felt something take over his joints and muscles and walk him over to Kent. "What did you do?" he said, deathly calm.

Kent looked at him with pity. "What I should have done weeks ago." He leaned in, whispering, "Your butt-buddy won't be around much longer. Let me know if you're looking for a real man to take over."

"In your dreams, asshole," Mitch whispered back, furious and sick. "He's twice the man you'll ever—"

" _Mitch!"_ he heard, and turned to see Chris standing by the door with light in his eyes. He shoved his way through the noise and chaos of the party to stand before him.

"What? What happened?" he said.

"It's the answer," said Chris, with surprise and delight. "I figured it out. Come on, I need your help. You're going to soil yourself in ecstasy, I promise."

"Gross," he said, smiling, and let Chris tow him out of the room and across the courtyard to the lab, trying to ignore the icy glare Kent was giving them as they left.

"I _destroyed_ that final," said Chris, clutching his hand hard enough to leave marks. "I had it in the bag. But then I came to the lab and turned on that fucking laser – I never felt so stupid. I had about three seconds to watch it melting down, and knew I should have, _god,_ what was I thinking –" He shook his head, like a wet dog. "But of course then I never would have realized. The liquid nitrogen fell on my foot. It gave me the idea."

Mitch tried to follow his train of thought. "A frozen nitrogen laser? But –"

"No, _bromine._ An exciplex laser. The bromide ion can be sustained in its excited state if we suspend it in a matrix, probably argon… maybe krypton. I don't know. We'll have to try it." He clutched at Mitch's hands, and his face split in a brilliant smile. It hurt to look at it. "This is it. I can feel it."

Then he grabbed Mitch's face in both hands and kissed him, right there in the middle of the courtyard. Mitch could feel everyone's eyes on them, people staring as they walked by. One guy said, with disgust, "Jeez, fags, get a room."

Mitch pulled away and stared at Chris, radiating confusion and disbelief, but Chris was too high on success to notice. "After we publicly humiliate Kent in front of Jerry, I'm going to buy the entire school a drink," he declared grandly. "Everybody. Even the pets. There will be no alcohol left in the entire city when we are done drinking."

"Let's figure out this laser business first, okay?" Mitch said, giving Chris a push in the direction of the lab.

"Right. The laser." Chris was already off and running. "You know, I think there's enough bromine in the halogen lab, but we're going to need to figure out where they store the argon…"

* * *

"… It's like lasing a stick of dynamite." Chris finished his graph with a sweep of the marker. "As soon as we apply a field, we couple to a state that is radiatively coupled to the ground state. I figure we'd get at least ten to the twenty-first photons per cubic centimeter, which will give us one megajoule per liter."

"That's hotter than the sun," Bodie said with awe.

Chris finished hooking up the system and passed goggles around. "We only have the one sample that will destroy itself as it lases, but…" He smiled at Mitch, an intimate smile, one Mitch felt in his gut. "Everything's going to be fine. Isn't it, Mitch?"

"Yeah," he said, softly, and remembered the kiss in the courtyard. _Maybe it was._

And when they fired up the laser, the beam was just as wide and clear as a crystal, and the holes it made in the wall – and the trees across the quad, and the head of the statue – were sharp and precise.

"You graduate," said Dr. Hathaway. "You get the Darlington job."

"What a team," said Chris, and threw his arms around Mitch, and everything else went away: the lab, their friends, Kent whining to Dr. Hathaway that the job was his. Chris's body was the laser, sharp and clear and precise, burning into Mitch, and he felt himself dissolving under its brilliance. He couldn't let go.

* * *

Jordan took his hand as they slid into the booth to order their victory hamburger. "Congratulations," she said, and for a moment Mitch wasn't sure what she was telling him. "You solved the problem," she added, and kissed him, quickly.

"Um, it was really Chris," he said, glancing over at him, but he was engaged in a conversation with Ick and didn't even notice. "He figured it out."

"You're a great team," she said. "I don't think you realize how well you work together, but I can see it, you know, I'm very perceptive, people don't know that about me, but I think it has to do with never sleeping…"

Mitch couldn't help but smile, but he felt a little strange, with Jordan's arm around him, and Chris on the other side, still talking with Ick as though nothing had changed. _Had it?_

"Are you going to take me home to meet your parents?" Jordan said.

"No!" Mitch said, feeling the panic rising up in his throat. She looked hurt.

"Why? Are you ashamed of me?"

"No," he said, grasping for an answer that wouldn't be a lie. "Them."

She laughed with relief, and he laughed back. _Was this how it was going to be? Was she his girlfriend now?_ He sensed, more than saw, Chris, teasing Ick, putting a friendly arm around him, and he felt a wave of nauseated jealousy. _This wasn't how it was supposed to end._

* * *

But then, of course, after Lazlo came out to the bar and pointed out the flaw in their logic, it turned out that this was only the beginning. They took a cab back and unlocked the lab, but the laser and the mirror were both gone.

Chris threw his keys across the room. "How could you build that mirror?" he shouted.

"He lied to us," Mitch said, feeling numb.

Chris's face was slack, but his eyes burned into him. "It's easy to lie to you, Mitch. You trust people."

Mitch felt the words like a boot in his stomach. He turned hurt eyes back on Chris, who shook his head uselessly. "I'm a cynic. _He's_ an asshole."

The words stayed with him the rest of the night, even as they made plans to interrogate Kent, even as Jordan took his hand and led him back to her room, where she took and gave comfort in equal measures. _It's easy to lie to you, Mitch,_ echoed the words in his head, as he buried his hands in her hair. _You trust people._

He didn't go back to their room that night, and in the morning when he returned, Lazlo was the only one there. "Have you seen Chris?" he said.

"He's getting the equipment ready for listening to Kent," Lazlo said. He put a hand on Mitch's arm, stopping him. "He drank a lot last night. I thought he needed someone to talk to, so I stayed around for a while, but he just wanted to drink."

"Oh," said Mitch, and suddenly felt guilty. Then he felt angry that he felt guilty. He sat on his bed and put his head in his hands.

"He's still confounding you," Lazlo said, and after a minute, Mitch nodded, miserably.

"He's my best friend," he said. "I should be there for him."

"It should work both ways," Lazlo said. "If you can't have that, it stands to reason you'll look for it from someone else."

"But there's no one like him," Mitch said. He scrubbed his eyes on his sleeve. "I don't… I don't think I can find it anywhere else. Not really."

Lazlo just nodded, understanding in his eyes, and disappeared into the closet.

* * *

It was a rush, knocking Kent out like that. Part of it was working together in a team with Jordan and Chris. Jordan had been right – Chris and Mitch, they _were_ a good team. The surprising thing was how well the three of them also worked together, almost like a being with six arms, finishing each other's ideas and carrying each other's equipment without asking.

Chris was unusually quiet through the whole experience, but Mitch saw no sign of a hangover, and he was focused and attentive. He didn't even argue when Mitch offered to be the voice of Jesus. Mitch kind of expected a joke or two about that, but nothing was forthcoming.

After they'd finished their spying, they hid the tubing and the radio in the girls' bathroom. Chris watched Jordan crawl up into the drop ceiling as Mitch handed her the equipment. "She's a great girl," Chris said, and Mitch nearly dropped the FM receiver.

"What?" he said.

"I mean, she talks more than a parrot on meth, but she's got a nice set of tits. And she's clearly into you."

"That doesn't bother you?" said Mitch. He noticed Chris didn't say _You're clearly into her, too._

Chris scoffed. "No way. You guys deserve each other." He smiled at him. "Just make sure you invite me to the wedding, right?"

"Chris –" Mitch said, but Chris was already in the hallway.

* * *

Mitch woke up in the dark to lips on his neck and rough hands reaching into his pajama bottoms. "Chris?" he said drowsily.

"Don't talk," Chris whispered, running his palms over the light hair on his legs. Mitch closed his mouth. He felt hot breath travel down his body and hover over his stomach before dipping down to engulf his dick with slick, tight pressure.

"God –" Mitch cried out, and Chris brought a hand up to cover his mouth.

"Shh," he said. "Just feel. Feel me." He took him deeper, then deeper still, using his tongue and lips and sucking the head, and it was an unbelievably short time before Mitch was coming, coming into Chris' mouth, and moaning helplessly into the comforting restraint of his hand.

Chris lay his head on Mitch's stomach. "Let me fuck you, Mitch," he said softly. "Just one more time."

"Yes, yes, please, I want it," he groaned, reaching into the table drawer for the lube, but Chris already had it, had already prepared himself, and he used his tongue to make Mitch loose and supple before spreading his legs and sliding smoothly, perfectly into him.

It was heaven, having Chris this way, face to face, and even in the dark he could see his parted lips, his sweaty chest, the muscles in his shoulders as he lifted Mitch against him, held him close, pumping his hips into Mitch's ass, steadily, gently, with such care.

"I'll never forget this," Mitch said, as he sped up his thrusts to match Chris's increasingly more urgent strokes. "This, with you."

"Shut _up,_ dammit," Chris said, his voice crumbling into broken pieces. Mitch felt the wetness dripping from his face onto his chest, and he reached up a hand to wipe Chris's cheek clean. Chris finished that way, straining into him and cradling Mitch's hand against his face. He bent his lips to plant a kiss on Mitch's palm and lay beside him in the dark.

"Let's just say we figure out a way to get to the site of the laser test," Chris said, low and quick, "and we manage to stop them. And we don't get caught. I'm still leaving. This is still the end, for us."

"I know," Mitch said. "I knew it from the beginning."

Chris wiped his snotty nose on Mitch's shirt. "I guess I didn't really know it until yesterday." He smiled into Mitch's shoulder. "You're smarter than me, after all."

Mitch reached down with a toe and hooked the blanket, feeling a sweet twinge inside him, and thought, _I might never feel that again._ He pulled the blanket up over both of them and nestled in against Chris's back. Chris, usually clear about wanting his own space, did not object, and they fell asleep like that, pressed against one another, Chris's legs intertwined with his.


	6. Chapter 6

Their IDs weren't perfect, but they would have to do. Chris drove the car up to the gate of the Air Force base and honked the horn. "Snap it up, buddy, we're late," he said, sounding impatient and bored.

"What are you doing?" Mitch hissed, trying not to play with his fake moustache.

"Don't worry. You have to intimidate these guys." Chris drummed a pattern on the steering wheel.

The soldier ducked his head back into the car. "Sorry, you're not on the list."

"We're classified," Chris said.

He raised an eyebrow at them, and looked Chris up and down. "Aren't you guys a little young to be technicians?"

"Well, lasers are a young science – oh, now, see what you made me say." Chris put a casual arm around Mitch. The soldier took this in, and started to pull out of the car.

"Hey there, Airborne… don't do that." He tightened his grip around Mitch and they exchanged glances. It wasn't hard to make it look tense. "If you make that call, it's our jobs. We're four hours late. Cut us a break, hey buddy? Someday you might be in the private sector too."

The soldier considered him for a long moment, then returned to the booth.

"We're dead," said Chris.

But the gate lifted, and the soldier motioned them through with a wave of his arm, and they moved smoothly on down the road to the bunker where the laser was stored. "I can't believe we got through," Mitch marveled.

Chris glanced at him. "I had to play on his gay sympathies," he said.

"He was gay?" Mitch was startled. "How – how could you tell?"

"I can always tell," Chris said, shifting gears. There was a pause. "I could tell with you."

"Oh," said Mitch.

But when they reached the parking lot behind the bunker, Mitch put his hand on Chris's hand on the gear shift. "What about you?" he asked.

"What about me?" he said, yanking the emergency brake. He squeezed Mitch's hand quickly before they got out of the car, but he didn't say anything more.

* * *

There were several things that Mitch remembered afterwards, would recall in his dreams. Sneaking up on the stealth bomber was one of them, hiding behind the chain link fence, carrying their stainless briefcases. He felt like a spy, like a secret agent. It was like a movie.

But then, as they were climbing up the stair, seeing the laser technicians for the first time, Mitch realized: _Shit – it's real. It's really real. They're going to make this weapon and use it to fucking kill somebody._ He knew this wasn't a game, wasn't a stupid exam at school. This was actually life and death.

And later, while waiting for the other technicians to go, Mitch thought they might be made, but Chris scared the last guys away with an annoyed, " _What?"_ Mitch felt a rush of emotion for him, for his insane bravado, for his bravery and courage.

But then, after they'd hooked up their communications hardware - Mitch thought for sure they'd be caught six or seven times – he couldn't stand it anymore. He mashed Chris up against the computer bank with his hip and accosted his mouth with a desperate tongue. He could scarcely bear the assault of Chris's hands on his back, dipping down into the curve of his ass, touching him almost tenderly, as though they were back in their room at home. Because he knew if they got caught, that would be it, that he'd never see Chris again. Even if they didn't get arrested, his parents would almost certainly transfer him to another school.

"Chris," he said, "I've got to tell you."

Chris shook his head, forestalling him. "I know, Mitch."

"But I –"

Chris stopped his mouth with two fingers resting on his lips. He let his eyes roam over Mitch's body, hungry, wanting, and cupped Mitch's erection with one hand. "I always knew about me, too," he said.

"What?"

Chris shook his head. "Nothing. Come on, we need to get the hell out of here before anybody realizes what's happened."

 _I realize what's happened,_ Mitch thought, watching Chris advance down the hall before him with a sinking frustration. _You just won't let me say it._

* * *

They appropriated a van for all their equipment and set it up outside Kent's dorm to have one more conversation with him before heading over to Dr. Hathaway's.

"Drain Experts, Incorporated," read Mitch off the side of the van, as they hooked up the transmitter. "Nice cover."

"No cracks about laying pipe or snaking the drain out, now," cautioned Chris. "This is serious business."

"How about I service your back vent, then?" Mitch said, completely deadpan. "Or I could use my reamer to level your faucet so my valve stem fits properly –"

"For the love of God, man," Chris cried, and knocked Mitch's legs out from under him. They tumbled to the floor of the van, and Mitch made a noise of surprise as Chris landed heavily on top of him. He could feel Chris's erection against his stomach. Chris ground it against him, quick and dirty, already breathing hard, and swept his hands under Mitch's shirt, stripping it off. "Where'd you pull those terms from?"

"My dad's a plumber," Mitch said, grinning, "and a homophobic jerk. I could feed you gay plumber jokes all day."

"Well, come on," Chris prompted, inching off their shorts. "Talk plumber to me, baby."

"Um." Mitch found it hard to think with Chris's tongue in his ear, but he obediently offered, "let me reinstall your suction head… we need to clean out your rim holes…"

" _Jesus,"_ Chris groaned, fisting his cock over Mitch's belly.

"That rigid pipe is gonna transmit a backfill load," Mitch added, watching with delight as Chris rose to his knees and pumped a sudden stream of hot, white jizz over his chest.

"Damn, Chris," Mitch said softly. Chris panted, staring down at him, taking in his come-covered body, and collapsed back against the wall of the van.

Mitch pulled up his shorts and wiped his chest off with a stack of Rally's fast food napkins. "I didn't even get to use the word 'ballcock,'" he said, trying a grin, but Chris wouldn't even look at him. "Hey… it's okay. I didn't mind."

"I'm not going to say goodbye," Chris said, his voice tense, almost accusatory. "Understand? When we get back to the dorm, I'm packing up, and I'm out of there. Four years was plenty. I don't need one more day of this shit."

"I… okay," Mitch said slowly. He put a cautious hand on Chris's leg, and Chris didn't pull away. "Do you think you might stay for decompression? I hear Ick's going to whip up another batch of his amazing sublimating ice rink."

"I… don't think I can do that, Mitch," Chris said, staring fixedly at the wall. He tucked himself back into his pants and found his shirt.

"Why not?"

"Because," he shouted, and stopped, running a hand through his hair. He tried again, quieter now, through gritted teeth: "Because. I can't. See you. With her."

For a minute, Mitch had no idea what he was talking about. Then it dawned. "Jordan?" he said, incredulous. "You're talking about _Jordan?"_

"You don't own the copyright on irrational feelings, understand?" Chris snapped. "Just leave me alone."

But Mitch crawled over to him and took his head in both hands, and kissed him thoroughly, until they were both panting. He made Chris meet his eyes. "I don't love _her,_ asshole," he said.

Mitch felt Chris's body relax under his hands, and their lips met again, and this time it was gentle, tender. They stayed together like that, breathing into each other's mouths, Mitch's legs wrapped around his, while Chris's hand dipped into Mitch's shorts and stroked him slowly and surely to a mind-blowing climax.

Mitch tried to explain. "I just didn't want to be alone," he said, "and I knew you were leaving, and she was… it was…"

"I got it," Chris said. He was calm again. "Girls are just easier sometimes."

"I guess," Mitch said. He slid back into his t-shirt, then added, "I always thought things were pretty easy. You know, with us."

"It was supposed to be fun, Mitch." Chris's voice was wry and soft. His lip twisted. "Remember? Just good fun."

"Wasn't it?" Mitch said, hesitantly.

Chris shook his head, back and forth, and said, "Yes."

* * *

Watching the laser hit Dr. Hathaway's house was easily the most incredible thing Mitch had ever seen. His first thought was, with a giant sense of relief, _Oh, thank god, nobody died._ He knew they'd rigged the laser to self-destruct, and the sample would be burned up, and that would be the end of it.

After bidding goodbye to Lazlo and his surprise fiancée, and promising to visit them in Wyoming, they all drove the van back to campus. Chris wasn't avoiding him, but he wasn't making any more efforts to talk to him alone, either. Mitch knew what he was doing. He was pulling away.

Even though he knew to expect it, it was a shock when he got back from decompression that night (the snack food of the evening had, of course, been popcorn) and found Chris' half of the room empty. There was no note, no goodbye, as promised.

But as he was fumbling under the bed for his suitcase, Mitch found something soft and fuzzy. He pulled it out. It was a single bunny slipper.

That's when the tears came, long after they could have done any good, but there was no stopping them. He dug the palms of his hands into his eye sockets and tried to press the terror and overwhelming loss back inside.

He felt soft arms around his back, and he turned and buried his face into Jordan's soft chest. "Oh," she said, worried. "Mitch."

"I'm – I'm all right," he choked out, but of course, he wasn't. He knew he wouldn't be, not for a long time.


	7. Chapter 7

That summer went by more quickly than Mitch had anticipated. He avoided being home as much as possible, pleading adolescent insanity, and got permission to visit both Ick and Jordan for a few weeks. He celebrated his sixteenth birthday without incident. All of his pants got too short as he hit another growth spurt, and his voice started to do crazy stunts with every other phrase that came out of his mouth. He read some good books that were not about lasers.

He sent a letter to Chris at Darlington from Lazlo's survival place in Wyoming. He said nothing much for three paragraphs, and ended with _Jordan and I called it quits after the Fourth of July,_ and _I wish you were here._ That was it. He deliberated on the closing for twenty minutes before settling on _Fondly, Mitch._ The stamp had a picture of Marie Curie on it. Chris didn't write back.

Kent graduated and went into academic exile somewhere in the Midwest. Dr. Hathaway was fired with cause, and replaced by Dr. Turner, a quick-witted young rising star with strawberry-blonde hair and a propensity for dirty jokes. Mitch liked her immediately and offered to help her set up the lab for the fall.

"I hear you worked with Chris Knight," she said casually one day, while they were taking inventory.

"Yeah," he said. It almost didn't hurt anymore to hear his name.

She looked at him curiously. "Did you have anything to do with that stunt with the popcorn?"

"Maybe," he allowed, and they grinned at each other.

"If that's any indication of how things will be around here, I guess I'd better watch out."

"You only get that kind of treatment if you're a jerk," he said. "Or possibly if we just really like you."

She laughed, and put the canister of caffeine crystals back on the shelf. "You attending his guest lecture tonight?"

"Whose?"

"Chris's, of course. He's speaking about the industry applications of excimer lasers – Mitch, are you okay?"

"No," Mitch said, and set the box of test tubes down with a trembling hand. "I'm – he's going to be here? When?"

"His talk is at seven. I'm surprised you didn't hear about it. Why don't you come with me? I could use a partner to listen to my snide comments." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Mitch. You look awful. Did you and Chris part on bad terms or something?"

"I just… never got to tell him something. Something important."

Dr. Turner smiled encouragingly. "Well, maybe now you can."

"He wouldn't listen," he said, shaking his head.

"I bet you could make him listen, if you really wanted to."

"Yeah, short of tying him up, I really don't see –" He stopped, and the idea rose in him like helium, buoying his shoulders and the corners of his mouth. "Dr. Turner. Do you know where he's giving his talk?"

"Yeah, he'll be at the Parker Center kiva." She wrinkled her brow. "You're not – _really_ going to tie him up, are you?"

"No," Mitch said. "I thought of another way to get his attention. But I could use your help."

* * *

Chris was there when Mitch arrived with Dr. Turner. Mitch concealed himself behind the crowd as best he could, cursing the growth spurt that had suddenly made him taller than most of the student body. "Do you think you can distract him?" he said.

She grinned, and deftly adjusted her cleavage. "If the stories of Chris Knight are even a little bit true, I think I should have no problem causing a diversion."

"You have no idea," he said, matter-of-factly, and she laughed, heading down the aisle to the front of the room. He watched Chris out of the corner of his eye. He looked absurd in a suit and tie, but Mitch nearly lost it when he saw what he was wearing on his feet. _Those mouse slippers._

Dr. Turner held out her hand and said something devastatingly funny to Chris, who lit up like a Christmas tree. He followed her out the side door of the kiva and disappeared around the corner.

Quickly, Mitch darted down to the podium where Chris's stack of note cards were waiting. _Great memory, my ass,_ he thought, with a rush of affection. _He always has backup when he gives talks._ Mitch inserted three note cards into the stack, flipped through to make sure everything was in order, and replaced them exactly where they'd been. Then he strode back up the aisle to the back and found a seat.

Chris and Dr. Turner reappeared a minute later, laughing together, then she climbed the steps to sit in the seat beside Mitch. "Did you get to do whatever it was you needed to do?" she murmured.

"All set," he said. "What did you tell him?"

"I said I wanted to show him the reason I'd been hired to work here," she said with a smile. At his raised eyebrows, she pulled a sheaf of papers out of her briefcase. "This work on direct methods for determination of crystal structures – it's been short listed for the Nobel Prize."

"Was he disappointed?" he said.

She shook her head. "On the contrary – I think he appreciated my sense of humor. I look forward to getting to know him."

Mitch smiled. "He's one of a kind."

The room broke into polite applause as the president of the university stood and stepped onto the podium. "I'm sure the man I'm about to present to you needs no introduction. Let's just say I'm glad he's here to speak with you today about some of the most brilliant work on chemical lasers I've ever seen. Please make him feel welcome: Christopher Knight." The room exploded with cheers and catcalls as the president shook his hand and Chris took the podium.

"Thank you," he said, smiling at the crowd. "I must say working in industry has given me new appreciation for the brilliance of some of the minds I worked with here at Pacific Tech. I'll give you an example: posted outside the laser lab at Darlington Electronics, I saw this instruction: 'Do not stare into the beam with your remaining good eye.'" He grinned at their laughter. "True story."

Then he noticed Mitch, sitting beside Dr. Turner, smiling with all the rest. Mitch gave him a little wave, and Chris's grin deepened. He looked down at his notes. "The work our team did on chemical laser technology ended in a pretty spectacular failure," Chris said, shuffling through his cards, "but as every scientist knows, even in failure, there can be chances for growth and success. My team at Darlington is working with new advances in argon fluoride and argon bromide eximer lasers. We see possible applications in eye surgery, dermatology and even micromachines. I'm sure you –"

Then he paused, looking down at his cards. His face went red. "I, um," he said, and looked up at Mitch. Mitch just smiled, feeling a little flushed himself, but he held Chris's gaze and waited. _The ball's in his court now. Let's see if he wants to play._

Chris went on with his talk, with no other significant interruptions, though he kept fiddling with the cards and glancing at Mitch with an opaque expression. Mitch stood and applauded with the rest, and shook Dr. Turner's hand.

"I've got to get going," he said. "Thanks so much for telling me about this. I'll see you tomorrow at the lab."

"It was my pleasure," she said. "He's really as brilliant as I'd heard. And maybe tomorrow you can tell me what this was all about."

"Maybe," he said. "Wish me luck."

She shook her head, mystified. "Good luck?"

* * *

He made his way across the campus, nearly empty of students now at the end of the summer, to his dorm. He'd moved his things in earlier that week, and the rest of the dorm was largely empty until the rest of the students came back.

With equal parts of hope and fear, he crawled out of the window and found a comfortable place to perch on the roof. Then he waited, looking up at the stars. The moon was a waxing gibbous on the horizon.

"What'cha doing?"

He smiled without turning around, taking a deep breath. "I was thinking of the immortal words of Socrates, who said, 'Let him that would move the world, first move himself.'"

"Oh, yeah?" He felt Chris' strong arms wrap around him from behind, and he leaned into his familiar embrace, sighing. "What else did that Socrates guy say, smart boy?"

He traced a line down Chris's arm. "How about, 'Be slow to fall into friendship; but when thou art in, continue firm and constant.'"

"Sounds like Socrates had a dirty mind," Chris murmured into his ear. Mitch turned his head, found Chris's mouth, and kissed him, long and deep.

"I have one more." He took a deep breath. "'One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life… and that word is…'"

"Love," said Chris, softly. He reached into his sport jacket and pulled out the three cards Mitch had inserted into his stack. He fanned them out. One read, _Meet me on the roof after your talk._ The second: _You look ridiculous in that suit._ The third: _I love you, dammit._

Chris ran a hand through the back of Mitch's hair. "What's wrong with this suit?"

"You look way too respectable," Mitch said. Then he added, "I admit, I'm mostly thinking about how much work it's going to be to take it off you."

"If you think you're going to just show up at my talk and expect me to have sex with you, well, that's where you're right." Chris stood and tugged Mitch to his feet, and together they began to undo the buttons on Chris's shirt. Chris laughed quietly.

"What is it?" Mitch said, as he drew the shirt down Chris's tanned shoulders.

"Lazlo was right," Chris grinned, looking up at Mitch and shaking his head. "You did grow five inches this year."

"Only four so far," Mitch corrected, drawing himself up to his full height. They both started on Mitch's buttons. "But I bet he'll be right about the rest. I hear he's one of the top ten minds of the country."

"I may have heard that," Chris said, slipping Mitch's shirt off and running his hands across his back. The silky feeling of Chris's skin against his, alone, was almost enough to make Mitch come, but he maintained control, just shivering slightly as their nipples brushed. "Your voice is lower, too. Any other changes I should know about?"

"I guess you'll just have to discover them for yourself," Mitch said. He hesitated. "You don't… mind them. The… the changes?"

"No," Chris snorted. "Why would I?"

He shrugged, turning pink. "I don't know. Maybe you like boys. I'm kind of just a kid."

" _Mitch."_ Chris pulled back, brow furrowed, and looked at his face in astonishment. "First of all, _no._ Barf. And second… you really think that's how I see you?"

"I don't know," Mitch said again, gesturing helplessly with his hands. Chris grabbed them, holding tight to his wrists, and Mitch sighed. "Okay, okay. You like… men?"

"I like _you,_ " Chris said. He searched Mitch's face for understanding, and reached a hand up to hold Mitch's jaw. "I really like _you._ Is that enough?"

"No," he said truthfully. "It's not."

"God dammit, Mitch!" Chris dropped his hands and backed away, frustrated. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to admit how you feel about me, Chris," he said. "I want you to tell me it matters. Because it's not just about _fun_ anymore. I'm in love with you."

Chris covered his face with his hands momentarily. "What do you want me to _do_ with that? What do a couple of regular guys _do_ when we feel like… like _that?"_

"Like what, Chris?" His eyes bore down on Chris. "Feel like what?"

"Feel like… god, Mitch." He sank into a chair, hunching forward.

"Are you ashamed of me?" Mitch said, calmly.

"What? No!" Chris glared at him.

"Are you ashamed of what we did together?"

"No," he said again, more quietly. "Mitch, no. I… I loved it. I loved… what we did."

"Have you done it with lots of other guys?"

Chris ran a nervous hand through his hair. "I don't know… a couple."

Mitch crouched down in front of him. "Was it as good with them as it was with me?"

"No," Chris said. He shook his head, and sighed. "No."

"How was it different?"

"They didn't make me talk about my goddamn feelings, for one thing," Chris said angrily. "It could just be…"

"Fun, I know." Mitch looked up at the night sky and breathed in patience.

Chris snorted. "I was going to say, it could just be _fucking."_

Mitch ignored this, and the throb he felt in his dick at the idea of _fucking_ with Chris. "So, it's better with feelings?"

"I… I guess." Chris looked lost for a moment.

"Chris. Come on. It's not rocket science, and _that,_ I know you can do. How do you feel about me?"

Chris took a terrified breath. "I…"

Mitch grabbed him by both shoulders. "Dammit, Chris. Do you love me?"

"Yes," he snapped back.

"Say it. Say, 'I love you, Mitch.' Just _say it._ "

"I love you, okay?" he shouted. "I fucking love you." Tears sprang into his angry eyes, and he dashed them away with a rough hand. "I'm a fucking queer. And I'm fucking scared to death of it."

"I know," Mitch said. "I'm scared too. But I can't – I don't want to be without this anymore. I want you."

"I want you, too," Chris whispered. He reached out, and their mouths fumbled, found each other, and Mitch pressed in tightly enough to bruise his lips. He pressed desperately into Chris's neck with his teeth, biting him lightly, then more aggressively as Chris moaned his approval.

"Inside," Mitch said, and Chris stumbled ahead of him, crawling through the window and tumbling onto Mitch's bed. He felt his hands trembling as he unzipped Chris's pants, and pulled them down around his ankles, followed by his boxers. Chris was erect, red and weeping when Mitch took him hungrily into his mouth.

"Mitch," Chris begged, thrusting up helplessly into the warm wetness. "God, yes, this is what I want, just like this."

Mitch took him in, let him show him what he wanted, and then he put a firm hand on Chris's hips and held him down, doing the thrusting himself, giving him the angle and pressure he needed to get off quickly. He knew, with a satisfying certainty, that there would be time, many other times, for slow lovemaking, for leisurely blowjobs, but that right now, Chris needed him to make it fast and dirty.

His mouth watered with the effort to sustain a slick environment for Chris's cock, and some of the spit dripped down around his balls and onto the pucker of his ass. Mitch rubbed it in, giving him a little pressure, a little friction, and was rewarded with a delicious moan. He pulled back for a moment. "Yes?" he said.

" _Yes,"_ Chris said, spreading his legs wider, and Mitch unzipped his pants with one hand while maintaining the pressure on Chris's ass and the slippery suction on his cock. _It was a little like rubbing your tummy and patting your head at the same time,_ he thought. _Only a hell of a lot more fun._ He managed to get the bottle of lube out of the drawer, where he'd put it only this morning, thinking he might use it on himself, never dreaming that today he would have Chris back in his bed. _Where he belonged,_ he thought, with a bright, glorious burst of love.

He slipped one, then two fingers into Chris, and probed for the spot that he knew was there, that he'd felt in himself, with Chris's fingers and Chris's cock inside him. When he found it, Chris stiffened and made a desperate noise. "Mitch, I'm gonna come," he warned. "I'm gonna come right now."

Mitch removed his fingers and let Chris slip from his mouth, eliciting another noise of protest from Chris, but the noise changed yet again when he kneeled between Chris's legs and pulled his hips forward on the bed, putting him right on the edge. "Are you sure this is what you want?" he said, praying for the answer to be yes.

"Mitch, if you don't put your dick inside me right now, I'm going to call up Kent and tell him he's got a new boyfriend," Chris snapped. "Now come _on."_

Mitch pressed forward against Chris's tight hole, willing himself to go slowly, not to hurt him, and desperately hoping he wasn't going to come _immediately_ and embarrass the heck out of himself. "You feel so good," he said, closing his eyes, and wrapped his fingers around Chris's wet dick.

"God, Mitch, has it felt like this all along?" Chris panted, squirming. "You've been holding out on me. I'm going to make you fuck me every day."

That was all Mitch heard, because he started thrusting into Chris, and he couldn't stop. And judging by the noises Chris was making, he didn't want him to stop any time soon.

"I love you, Chris," he chanted, "love you, loved you so long, from the first day you touched me, god, always loved you."

Chris, beyond words, just shook his head helplessly under this barrage of confession, letting Mitch fuck him, and with a sudden jolt, came in great spurting, spraying streams over Mitch's hand. Mitch felt his own orgasm crest over him, a great wave of emotion and passion, and he emptied himself into Chris's tight ass.

He folded himself down around Chris's body, knowing there would be plenty of cuddling if _he_ had anything to say about it, and as he held him close, he heard Chris whisper, "I love you, too, Mitch."

They lay in the silence of the empty dorm. Mitch ran a gentle hand down Chris's sweaty, come-covered stomach, for the first time not worrying about anyone walking in on them, or being too loud, or about anything at all. It was all right.

"You'd better not have a roommate this semester," Chris said drowsily. "Or take any classes. Or do anything else but lie here with me in this bed. Because I'm not planning to stop doing this any time soon."

Mitch smiled. "Sounds like fun to me."

* * *

 _I never thought this could happen_

 _I never thought I could feel this way_

 _Until this strange reaction today_

 _You give me a new sensation_

 _In a place that has no name_

 _Something tells me I'll never feel the same_

 _Now it's all changed_

 _I'm falling, falling_

 _What have you done to me_

 _I'm falling endlessly_

 _I began to slip_

 _I did not know what was coming next_

 _Even so I was not prepared for this._

 _I'm falling, falling_

 _I used to think nothing mattered_

 _Now I see possibilities_

 _You showed a new direction to me_

 _And it's all changed_

 _I'm falling, falling_

 _\- Comsat Angels, "I'm Falling"_


End file.
